Nine To Five
by IcedTeaa
Summary: Four boys. One pushed to drugs by his own incompetence. One drove to exhusation just to pay the bills. One battered daily to entertain his father. One attacked relentlessly out of sheer spite. Something was bound to break sooner or later.
1. Loose Change

**A/N:** Okay, so. This is going to be my first multi-chapter story that I will actually continue, and yes, I know the summary is completely lame. But if you have managed to get past that and still want to read, then yay! I just really, really, beg you to give this a chance? Please don't just read the first couple of lines and go, because I worked very hard on this and yeah. I'm supppppper excited about it because I have loads of awesome ideas and stuff, so I plan it to be quite epic.

Dark themes, and stuff, language, um, yeah. I'm not going to be precise with what 'dark themes' are in this, because that would kind of ruin it. Rated M because I'm super paranoid and for up coming chapters. HURP DERP.

Okay. Alright. I'm working on the second chapter, I aim to have it done by maybe next Sunday? DON'T SHOOT ME IF IT'S NOT. I like to write long chapters, k?

Oh, and I was really indesicive if I wanted Carlos and Kendall in this chapter or not. I was going to, but then it would be like, twice as long. Didn't want it to drag. Not to worry they get their own lovely angsty chapter about them next time.

IMPORTANT: I warn you that things will get worse for the boys. You might be like, oh, it's not that bad...But I wanted to start of kind of small, then get on to the big stuff later. Because, y'know. That's how books go.

I'll let you get on with it now. PLEASE review, tell me what you think? THANK-YOU!

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><p><em>And they scream, <em>_the worst things in life come free to us.- (The A Team, Ed Sheeran.)_

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><p>Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock…<p>

Why did time insist on passing ever so slowly whenever he wanted it to hurry up?

Tick…Tock…

Light brown eyes glared daggers at it. How dare it defy him? _Move faster damn it._

T-tick….T-t-t-ick….

"No!" He cried out, staring at the mechanism with pleading eyes. "C'mon, not now…"

But it was too late. The clock was broken. _Thefuckingclockfuckingbroke. _He let out one big sigh, and ran a hand hastily through his soft sandy hair, gripping it tightly at the roots. Now what was he supposed to do? Count the time until he was aloud of there himself?

_One Mississippi, two missi-_T-t-ick.

He tried again.

…_One Mississip-_T-t-ick.

"Now you're just being unfair. Ha-ha, real funny. Stupid clock…" He trailed off, throwing it one last glare for good measure.

"Talking to clocks again boy?"

"Eeeeeeek!" James wasn't going to lie. He jumped a mile high. He just wished that he could of contained his girly yelp. _Holy shit, when did he get here?_

He turned around to face the newcomer, letting out a nervous laugh. "Haha, um, no, 'course not," he said, giving him a shiny white grin. It quickly slid off of his face seeing the expression the man wore. "I mean, no sir."

"That's more like it," He growled out. Mr. Peters glared at him with his small beady eyes, studying him up and down. James couldn't help but to squirm uncomfortably, feeling unusually small and dirty. "Well?"

"Um…I-"

"Save your excuses boy. Why ain't you working?" He spat out, easily picking up James by the collar of his shirt.

"I just-"

"I ain't paying you to stand here lollygagging about! Get to it! Them fields needs a good plough," He added, dropping the sixteen year old to the floor and watched him struggle to find his footing, offering no help what-so-ever.

A hard thump on the head from the fat old man reminded him to quicken his pace as he raced out of the small barn house to the shed out back to fetch the plough.

Mr. Peters was a 55 year old overweight slob, with tiny eyes and a huge nose and not that much hair left. He walked with a limp that he claimed to have received during his army days, but James had never seen the man move more than the distance to the fridge and back to get a beer. He never married, which wasn't all that much of surprise.

He also happened to own a some crop fields, that never really made it to being crops. But the point was, due to his leg, or laziness, or whatever, he needed someone to do all the work for him.

And so here James was. Working his goddamn hardest tugging the metal death trap along in the cold, being reminding every two seconds, "Walk straighter you stupid boy! Put some muscle into it!"

He fucking hated ploughing. He hated working for the sour old man full stop, but especially ploughing. Hell, even cleaning his gutters was better than this.

Just as James was about to tell the old man to _shut the fuck up right now or I will chop your leg off and ram it down your throat _he heard him say something that stopped him.

"Someone clearly doesn't want their money at the end of the month…" Mr. Peters snorted.

Money. No. He couldn't afford to lose out another pay check just because he opened his stupid mouth to make some comment. Not again.

So he gritted his teeth and bit his tongue so hard it drew blood to keep his mouth shut. Left foot, right foot, left foot. Straight line. Okay. He had this.

But man, it was heavy. Sweat stuck to him despite the fact his hands felt like they were going to fall off, and his eyes watered from the biting wind as he panted for breath.

Normally people had tractors and machines to do things like this, but since Mr. Peters couldn't afford it and was stuck in the dark ages, it was his job. He could of at least got a animal to do it! But no, since he couldn't even keep some plants alive for more than a day, James doubted that he could manage a horse for more than a hour.

Despite the fact that the plough was considerably lighter than any other animal-pulled ones, it was still unbearably heavy. His muscles screamed at him to stop, and little black dots were beginning to dance around his vision. He had been pulling it for at least a hour already. Or so his mind justified as he felt himself stumble, creating a squiggly and uneven line.

_Oh, fuck._

"Boy! What the hell do you think you're doing?" The man raged, but James couldn't hear past his madly beating heart or quick breaths. He really needed to sit down.

"Answer me!"

Thwack.

The world was madly tilted to one side as the rough hand came in contact with the back of James' head once more. Wow. The old man sure knew how to land a hit when he wanted to.

Not that James needed reminding.

The force of the blow sent the pretty teenager tumbling towards the dirt, as he lay in the field, still panting.

"S-sorry…"

A sharp pain suddenly flared in his side as Mr. Peter's boot was rammed into his ribs. He curled up on himself, unable to stop the slightly vain thought run through his head like a broken record, _please not the face, oh God, not the face…_

Thankfully, it was just the one kick. A very strong kick, but still just one. James let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Get the fuck up. You're doing this field all over again."

Immediately, James sat up (and winced in the process). "But it's five o'clock!" He shouted before he could stop himself. His eyes widened as he clamped a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry!…Sir!" Where was his mouth break today?

Another two kicks, in the same spot, harder. He muffled a cry and choked back the tears that welled in his eyes at the pain. Defiantly bruised, yep. Mr. Peters was always spot on with getting the bruises such a _lovely _shade of purple.

He heard the stout mans joints and bones creak and pop in protest as he knelt down next to him, and looked him straight in the eye.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it." He whispered, only getting back up after a rapid nod of the head from the dirt covered teenager, who still had a hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

Looks like he was doing overtime tonight.

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><p>"I'm home!" He called out, as James removed his key from the door, and kicked off his old sneakers. He shook off the few flakes of snow that had decided to nest on top of his sandy hair.<p>

When he received no reply, he frowned and wandered into the kitchen.

"Mum?" He ventured, looking around the practically empty house. He checked the cupboards, searching for his dinner. No such luck. Empty, mouldy, spider webs. Nope, no, and defiantly no.

He let out a sigh yet again. Alright. No food tonight either. _That's okay_, he guessed, _wasn't that hungry anyway, _he tried to convince his grumbling stomach.

He shuffled into the living room, rubbing his face tiredly. A quick glance at the clock told him it almost 2 in the morning. He groaned. He had to get back up for school in roughly five hours. He vaguely wondered how much of that time he would actually spend sleeping instead of tossing and turning trying to fall into a dreamless blank.

"Mum?" James found his mother on a dirty torn up green sofa, still in her pyjama's. She hadn't moved from that spot from when he left her in the morning, unconscious from a combination of drugs and alcohol. And now here she was again, still knocked out from what seemed like another healthy dose of drugs and alcohol, judging by the bottles and stench all around her.

He gazed on sadly at the pathetic looking sight.

His mother wasn't a bad person. She tried to do her best for James, or at least, she used to. But somewhere along the line, possibly at the point where her husband left her for a much younger woman and she went through a not-so-civil divorce, she went off the rails a bit.

She was fired from work for coming in drunk one day, and ever since then, had been lying on the sofa, drinking, getting high, and drinking. James tried to drown out her loud wails and echoing sobs every time she woke up from unconsciousness to be reminded that her husband wasn't lying asleep next to her.

The same old wounds, just continuously re-opened. James was starting to think that maybe she'd have to bleed herself dry before she could stitch herself up.

She'd find her way back on track, Brooke Diamond was a strong woman deep down. Back working, earning money, re-stocking the food cupboards, paying the bills… But until then, it was his job.

James exited the room briefly, and came back with a blanket. Sure, it had a few holes in it, but oh well, it was his from his bed and the only one he could find that didn't have a iffy smell to it. He'd survive without it. He lay it over her gently and kissed her on the cheek.

"Night mum," He whispered, lingering by the door for a few moments of silence to see whether he was going to a goodnight back.

Nothing. She didn't even stir.

James shut his eyes and let his imagination create all the words she would of said.

"_Where the hell have you been? Do you know what the time is James Diamond? Two, almost two in the morning! Who do you think you are? I'm going to choke that pretty little neck of yours if you don't get to bed in three seconds flat," _She would scream in his ear, but not the bad screams that kept him up at night.

And he would start to say something, probably some lame excuse he had just thought of on the spot, "_But, mum-"_

But he would never get to finish, because right then he'd have the air knocked out of his lungs and be pulled into a bone crushing hug. And then, James' favourite part, she'd tell him-

"_Oh my God, don't you ever, ever do that again. I love you so much, promise me, James. Promise you won't ever make me worry like that again."_

And he'd tell her he loved her too, and that he was sorry and he promised to never do it again. And then, with her beautiful laughter echoing after him, he'd race up the stairs to his room as fast as he could, because his mum was serious about the three seconds flat thing.

Those were the things she would of said.

If.

If his dad hadn't of left.

He practically crawled back upstairs to his room, tripping over trash and broken glass every now and again. Finally making it to his bed, the tall framed teenager shivered when he noticed the window had been left open all day. Making his way over to it with chattering teeth, he looked at it in tired confusion.

_Could of sworn I didn't open it…_Just as he was about to close it, the smell hit him. He gagged, and tried to hold down his breakfast. Peering out of his window, he cringed when he saw vomit sprayed all down the wall of his house.

_Lush. Nice one mum._

Well at least now he knew that his mum did in fact move today. To projectile vomit out of his window. That was…reassuring.

He thawed out the frozen hinge of his window with his keys and used all of his remaining strength to jam it shut. The shivers still wracked his worn out body, as he watched whisperers of his own breath swirl around his room in a cloudy fog. He bit down on his already abused tongue once more to stop his teeth from clanking together.

And he had no blanket. He was half tempted to go downstairs and tug it off of his mum, but he was just _too tired _and his legs were about to collapse. So instead, he just pulled another hoodie on, clamped his mouth down, and fell into his bed.

As soon as he shut his eyes, he tried to imagine his mothers arms wrapped around him, protecting him from the cold world outside, as she held him so tight that he could feel her heartbeat. He tried to imagine her laughter, and the way it use chimed and floated around the room. He tried to imagine the spark in her eye when they had a argument, the way she would always keep in him inline and out of trouble, the way she constantly worried about him.

It was sad that he could barely remember those things anymore.

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><p>Head down. Eyes on the floor. Oh, God. Not today, <em>please, <em>not today.

His hood is up, head downcast to the pavement, concealing strangers from catching a glimpse of his face. He doesn't dare risk looking up. He walks in a quick pace, body rigid, as he hurries through the snow, hoping to get to school without anyone seeing him.

His breath is coming out in short, quick pants, and his heart is beating _so_ fast, he can hear it ringing through his ears, and he absentmindedly wonders if is actually possible for your heart to beat this fast without having some sort of heart attack.

He saw a pair of feet approaching and panics, momentarily forgetting to breathe, and _oh Christ _they were coming closer and-

Walked straight past.

_Oh, thank-you, thank-you, so much!_ Logan remembered to exhale, letting the cold air whoosh out of his lungs. He let the wind blow down his hood, revealing short spiked brunette hair and intelligent chocolate eyes.

A smile spread across his face as he kicked a mound of snow up with his sneakers, turning the last corner before he reached school-

And then all at once, the world stopped spinning for him. He felt a hand on his shoulder. A rough, large hand, with broad knuckles.

_Oh God._

"Don't you think it's a bit rude to just walk past one your friends without saying hello, eh _Logie?" _A deep voice chuckled out, and right at that moment, blind terror seized him as he froze up, feeling himself shake.

"Um, a-actually, I was, um, j-just on my way to, err, school, Brad…" He stuttered out, shrugging the hand off of his shoulder but feeling the imprint of it burn his skin through his clothes like a brand. He walked as fast as he possibly could without breaking into a run.

Suddenly, the air was stolen from his lungs, as his backpack was yanked backwards in one powerful tug, sending his much smaller body crashing into Brads massive one. Logan let out a small yelp as he looked up to the giant teens grinning face.

"School don't start for another half hour. Whatcha say we hang out for a bit, gotta lot of _catching up_ to do, huh? I missed you over the weekend _Logie, _did you miss me?"

His teeth were crooked, and he had a big gap where one of his canines were missing. At 6ft 4ins, Brad towered over Logan, and was the tallest and biggest kid in their school. Nobody, at all, messed with him. He also had a wonky nose where it had been broken numerous times (most likely in fights), and short black hair.

"Um-"

Next thing Logan knew, he was making full body contact with the icy pavement. He couldn't breathe_, _each inhale making his lungs tighter and jolted across his ribs, as he tried to catch his breathe. He had literally been picked up and _thrown _to the floor.

Another thing about Brad? He was strong. Really strong.

"Oh, so you didn't miss me?" He practically screamed down at him. "Well, let me give you a reminder so you don't go forgetting me anytime soon," He spat, mood instantly changing and picked the much weaker brunette up, only to let his fist fly straight into Logan's face.

He let out a piercing scream at the pain (why was he so _weak?)_, and once again slammed into the cold pavement. For a few moments, Logan was confused and disorientated, blinking down at the white below him. Slowly, he became aware of the cold seeping through his many layers of clothes and weighing him down. However, it also numbed the searing pain in his right shoulder, that had bore the brunt of the attack.

Logan kind of liked being numb. It was weird, funny feeling, almost as if his body wasn't his own. Like he was just floating outside of it, but not actually _in it, _where he couldn't feel the bruises and cuts and many broken things that were so _wrong and unfixable._

He would of liked to have lay there for a while, in the snow, just watching tiny specks of pure white flutter down to meet him, as a warm trail of blood slowly dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Would of liked maybe to let his limbs go so numb he couldn't move them, just so he could feel like someone else, anyone else, than Logan Mitchell. Would of liked to have just closed his eyes, and let everything and everyone just go away.

Unfortunately, it seemed life had other plans.

Once again, he was lifted by the scruff of his shirt, as Brad pulled his him so their faces were mere inched apart. His face was pulled into a inhuman snarl, and the shorter teen wondered if Brad knew he absolutely stank of weed.

"Listen up, _buddy, _I'm in a good mood, so I'm going to let you off easy this time. But the next time you try to avoid me like that…"

A glint of metal peaked out from underneath Brads jacket, silently promising a thousand things. "Well, we wouldn't want poor Mrs. Mitchell to have to collect up little pieces of her son now would we?" Then, he leaned in closer, and whispered in Logan's ear, voice dangerously quiet.

"That is, if they find you."

A gasp snuck its way out of his lips, as he violently shook his head. He wouldn't. He…He couldn't!

…Could he?

A quick shove from the towering 16-year-old sent Logan stumbling back towards the ground again. He gazed fearfully up to Brad, flinching whenever the other so much as moved a muscle.

With a satisfied smirk, Brad stared down at Logan's small form shivering below him.

"Meet me after school behind the bike sheds."

Slowly, the smart teenager nodded. This seemed to be the right answer as Brads smirk widened, giving Logan one last look before turning around and heading for school. "Oh, and Logan?" He said in a low tone, back still turned away from him.

"Y-yeah?" He gulped.

"I wouldn't go telling those hockey head friends of yours about this. Wouldn't it be a shame if they were, say, involved in some sort of _accident? _Maybe, I don't know, a nasty trip down the stairs? Or a-"

"Please don't hurt them. I won't tell, I promise," Logan spoke softly from his spot on the ground, hands automatically curling by his sides at the thought of his friends being hurt because of _him._

"There's a good Logie!" Brad chuckled out, as he began to walk away. "Better start thinking of some excuses quick then for that black eye of yours, school starts in ten minutes…" He trailed off as he turned the corner, leaving Logan alone in the cold.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, half tempted to just walk back home. No, he couldn't, his friends would be too suspicious about him missing a day, and besides, he'd just have to come back in to meet Brad anyway.

The Goosebumps that appeared on his pale skin weren't exactly due to the icy weather. Great. What a swell way to start off the school year. He hadn't even _got_ to school yet and he'd already been beaten up and threatened, he thought to himself as he pushed himself off the ground, dusting himself off and grabbing his bag.

Taking in a deep breath of cold air into his lungs, the almost 17-year-old braced himself. He might as well get this over with.

And with that Logan Mitchell began his short trek to hell hole they called 'high school', hoping that no-one would notice the bruises.

Or maybe, just _maybe, _he thought with a glitter of hope that he desperately tried to smother, they might notice. Might say something and-

No.

There was no point. He knew he'd just lie anyway.

Because if there was one thing Logan was good at, it was pretending that everything was okay.

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><p><strong>AN: **Oh God. GAH. I'm so nervous. Review because I know you're such a lovely nice person?

Anyway, like I said, CARLOS AND KENDALL NEXT TIME. With some interactions with the guuuuuuuuuys ;D

Oh, and the OC's are just there because I need evil people in my fic. DON'T THEY HAVE SUCH CREATIVE NAMES? I don't even count them as OC's because they will just be purely there to mess the guys lives up a bit more, not have their own story and take over. Yeah, minor things really.

Ok, THANK-YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!


	2. Out Of Touch

**A/N: **Erm, hi. I realize it's been stupidly long since my last update and after weeks of toying with this chapter, here it finally is. In all its extremely lame glory. I hate this chapteeeeeeeeeeeer so much, but I felt bad for not updated so here you are!

Um, this story is AU if you haven't already noticed...As in, omg-what-if-they-were-never-pop-stars kind of universe. Overdone idea, yes, but bare with me. ALSO, this chapter orginally did contain Carlos' part, but I cut it in half since it was so agonizingly LONG. Chapter three does contain Carlos angst to the max though, swear! So that's why it goes James and Logan, then Kendall, and then Carlos.

The first three chapters of this story is more of a prologue (when I say prologue, I don't mean they'll get longer- they're painfully long as it is GAWD.) to the angst, it'll get worse for them soon, NEVER FEAR, I have some pretty nasty things planned~ ;)

So, here's Kendall's story!

(And a bit of Logan angst because he's a bitch and doesn't know how to stick to his own chapters.)

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><p>"<em>Forever is a long, long time when you've lost your way." -(Lasso, Phoenix)<em>

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><p>"Hey, watch where you're going, jerk!" Glaring daggers at his back, the blonde rubbed his recently abused shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt, curtsey of some random kid not looking where he was going.<p>

_Stupid school, stupid narrow hallways, stupid crowds._

Kendall Knight's morning was not going well. His alarm had deemed it necessary to wake him up a hour late, which was of course a death wish in itself. He had been swift and merciless with it, smashing it against his wall before disposing of its mangled remains by throwing it out of his window.

This, of course meant that he missed the bus, which meant he had to walk to school. By walk, he meant _fucking sprint _because there was no way he would make it in time if he just casually strolled there like some sort of movie character who had time in his daily routine to break into song and gush about how _lovely_ the world was. (He would never forgive Carlos for forcing him to watch 17 hours of the apparent _Disney _movie classics, claiming that he was 'a deprived boy with a non-existent child-hood' for not knowing what _The Lion King _was.)

He also knew that Mr. Simons, his science teacher, would have his head if he were a mere minute late, and that would defiantly not improve his mood.

Since he had woken up a hour late, he also had had no time for packing his bag, eating breakfast, or even drinking his usual two cups of coffee. But that was sort of a blessing in disguise, as it meant less time in the house, which was all good by him. However, the whole no coffee thing?

Definitely was not working out so far.

Feeling as though there were a dark thunder cloud hanging above his head, the 17-year-old slumped against his scratched locker door, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to dislodge the persistent group of sledgehammers that had taken residence within his brain.

'_Get out of my head.'_

_The sledgehammers looked at him, as if they were actually contemplating his request._

'_Nah,' they responded, before continuing to drill holes through his eyes._

He groaned. Even his imagination was out to get him.

Kendall sighed and shrugged on his backpack once more, making sure it was secure before diving back into the sea of students and noise, trying his best to navigate through the endless river of bodies. And when that didn't work, he simply resorted to pushing back everyone who shoved into him, until he arrived at his destination.

Rattling the handle of the door-_ stupid cheap crap- _he kicked it, successfully un-sticking the stubborn chunk of wood before swinging it open.

Upon entering the classroom, he was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic shout of "Kendall!" from across the room. His green eyes, drawn in by the frantic waves, easily spotted Carlos from across the room. Next to him sat Logan, who was, by the looks of it, telling the hyper boy to quiet down. Behind them, he could make out James, who already had his lucky comb out, and gave Kendall a cheery grin.

Kendall gave a small smile in return, feeling a tad bit lighter than he did about five seconds ago. Just as he was about to make his was over, fully intending to claim his usual seat next to the taller boy, a voice interrupted him.

"Kendall Knight," the teacher slowly sounded out, staring down at him with a look that made his blood boil. _Don't stare down on me, don't even look at me like that- _"you're late."

Late? He glanced at the clock, which immediately told him that it was 8:35 a.m.

"Um, I'm actually on time-"

"Was I asking a question?" Mr. Simons interrupted, raising a eyebrow. For a second, Kendall just incredulously stared at him. Was this guy for real?

"But I-" he tried to reason, but the other man clearly wasn't hearing any of it.

"No. I wasn't. Did I say you could talk? No. I don't want to hear any of your excuses, just sit down Mr. Knight," he dismissed him with a roll of the eye, as if to say _'Could this boy be any stupider?'_

"Hey, look-" Kendall started, voice raised slightly and he couldn't help the slight anger that slipped through into his tone, but he managed to restrain most of it. _It's the first day back, c'mon, it's not even lunch yet! _one part of his brain argued, noting that getting into a argument wasn't high on his 'things to do' list at the start of the school year.

Once again though, he never got to finish. Mr. Simons stood up and approached him, face pulled into a deep scowl.

"Firstly, you come in to my classroom late. Then, you have the nerve to answer back to me. And _now, _you are holding up my class and disrupting the learning of all your peers. Not only are you being incredibly rude, but also extremely selfish. Twenty minutes after school with me." By now the whole classroom had gone silent, watching the exchange with the mild curiosity of twenty five bored teenagers.

"Maybe if you let me finish a sentence-"

"Thirty minutes. Do you want me to double that Mr. Knight?"

The thing about Kendall was that, he was a fantastic friend. A extremely loyal one, and a great person to have on your side. But, when he wasn't, that's when things got ugly. Fights were not uncommon to him, and nobody wanted to deal with the wrath of Kendall Knight. His alarm clock had already been a casualty that day.

Time almost seemed to slow as his fingers twitched by his sides before curling into a fist. He could _feel _his heart hammering against his rib cage, a constant pulse vibrating through him, encouraging him to go on and just do it.

_Hit him._

And for one moment he was going to. And Mr Simons knew it too. A sick satisfaction of some sort dampened his anger slightly at seeing the uncertainty lurk in the teachers eyes, murky brown orbs darting back and forth between Kendall's own eyes and his tensed fist, taking in the poised posture and the locked jaw, as if he were a coiled spring. So full of tension, ready to be released at any given second.

But then, something made him stop. Maybe it was Logan's fearful stare from across the classroom, which felt like it was burning a hole straight through his heart. Or maybe it was the way he could see Carlos from the corner of his eye desperately shake his head, his eyes pleading. Or it might have been the way Kendall's ears picked up on James' hitched breath, putting so much faith in him to do the right thing.

Or it could of even been the way the bruises littered across his chest hurt that little bit more.

Whatever it was, it made Kendall stop. Slowly, all the gathered tension in his body faded just as quickly as it had come, his hand uncurling as he let it hover by his side.

He stared at it in shock for a seconds_. Was I really about to hit a teacher? _He knew the answer was a reluctant, but definite yes. And it unsettled him to his very core.

_You're just like him. _

Realizing the threat was no longer present, the uncertainty was completely wiped from Mr. Simons eyes, a look of confidence and composure replacing it once more, almost if it were never there.

"Hm. Take your seat." And with that he turned around, not even facing Kendall as he silently raged at the lack of respect he was being treated with. If it was one thing Kendall loathed, it was not being treated equally.

Mustering all of his willpower, he stiffly walked past his teacher and somehow made it to his seat without causing a scene. _Breathe, slowly, just relax…_

"Oh, and Mr. Garcia can join you," the teacher added as a off-hand comment, still with his back facing his class, scribbling down something on the board.

Carlos' face turned completely shocked as he sat there, mouth agape staring at the stern man. Logan wore a identical look, whilst James opted to join in with Kendall's death stare.

"B-but…Why?" Carlos dared to ask, shrinking back into his seat a little from the withering glare he received.

"For being immature. Are you a infant? You do not need to shout in my classroom, Mr. Garcia," the teacher snapped, before turning once more to continue jotting things down on the whiteboard at the front of the class.

Kendall's chair almost toppled over from the force of him abruptly standing up, the friction causing a high pitched squeak to emit around the classroom. Several heads turned. _Fuck the first day, or even making it to lunch, this guy is just a bully! _He opened his mouth, fully prepared to give the man a piece of his mind, when he felt a hand grab his wrist and yank him back down.

He let out a surprised yelp, glaring at the pretty boy seated next to him. "Let me go," he whispered harshly, "He's a jerk, I hate him!"

"Yeah, well, so do I, but I don't think you shouting is really going to help Carlos' situation or yours," James reminded him, hazel eyes dark in a rare moment of seriousness and logic, two words not usually associated with the name James Diamond.

They studied each other for a moment, Kendall taking note of the other boys unusually tired-looking appearance and storing it somewhere in the back of his mind. A flash of guilt struck through him. He didn't want to argue with James, not first thing in the morning and especially not when he looked so exhausted.

Tension mounted between the two at the prolonged silence, until finally, Kendall broke eye contact, grumbling something about alarm clocks and Mr. Simons head.

James grinned and released Kendall's wrist. "You know, if it wasn't the first day back, I probably would of let you, but, alas, I'm too kind for my own good. I mean, who knew such amazing looks could come with a awesome personality? You should be forever grateful to have such a wonderful- Ow!" he cried out in shock at having been cut off with a swift thwack over the head from Kendall's book. He glared at Logan's laughing form.

"What was that for?" He pouted, trying not to let Kendall see him wince at being tapped over the head with a mere book. But the bruises from the night before were still fresh he noted as he gingerly prodded them, before re-focusing his glare at the chuckling blonde.

"Anyone ever explained the word 'over-confident' to you?" the emerald eyed teen smirked.

"No." James deadpanned, blinking. "Why?"

"Oh, never mind…" he rolled his eyes.

"Hey, Logan what's that on your face?" Carlos squinted, trying to get a better look at the caught-off-guard teen.

At any other moment Kendall would of rolled his eyes at the abrupt change in topic, despite it being typical Carlos behaviour. The boy couldn't stick to one thing for five minutes to save his life. But curiosity got the better of him this time.

Logan, who looked just as startled by the new direction of conversation, managed to stutter out a reply, his cheeks tinting a light pink at the sudden attention. "M-my face? What about it?"

Kendall and James both turned in front of them, leaning forward in their seats in a effort to catch a clear view of the raven-haired boys face themselves.

"It…looks like a bruise…" Kendall squinted, sounding the words out slowly and uncertainly as he glanced at Logan questioningly.

"A bruise?"

Cautiously, Carlos reached up a hand a pressed his fingers lightly to the squirming boys cheek bone, only for him to hiss in pain as the Latino's digits came into contact with the purple-ish black section of discoloured skin.

Immediately, he drew his hand back, eyes wide. "Sorry!" he blurted out, eyes wide. "I didn't mean-"

"Carlos," Logan interrupted in a firm yet gentle tone, his eyes softening, "it's fine, it's only a bruise," he smiled.

"Yeah, but bruises hurt!"

"Not now it doesn't. Jeez, it's not like you punched me or anything."

Suddenly the room went cold.

It was meant to come out light, _a joke,_ and Carlos was supposed to laugh, but the humour fell dead. Immediately, worry clouded over the slightly shorter boys eyes.

"Someone punched you?" Kendall's voice echoed from behind him as Logan frowned. His voice sounded so…hollow? The usual reaction Kendall would have would be aggression and anger. Before his mind was able to process this, his mouth had already set to work on a pointless attempt to deny the statement.

"No!" But it was too late, he knew his voice was too high, too quick, too insistent. The lie in his voice was obvious to even him.

"Who?" James asked, and it was scary how furious his eyes were. Carlos stared at Logan with wide eyes, and he knew the younger boy's mind was properly already bursting with rushed conclusions and reasons. His eyes darted around nervously at the amount of attention and alarm he had un-knowingly caused, feeling more and more like a animal backed into a corner by the second.

"Was it Bill Jefferson? I _knew it!" _Carlos had already started to babble, and Logan found it hard to focus on his wild claims with the amount of quick words and questions that were fired his way. "Oh my God, did he threaten you? No- wait, Delton, it was Delton! Did his girlfriend say anything? Does she know?"

Meanwhile, he could practically feel James' stare burning a whole through the back of his head, murderous intent choking the air around him. The dark-haired teen bit his lip hard, in a attempt to clear his thoughts and muddle his was through the confusion, but James and Carlos carried on with their quick firing questions and exclamations, not noticing the discomfort of their friend.

"Did he hit you anywhere else?"

"Oh my gosh, it was Marry's _dad_?"

"When I get my hands on them I swear-"

"No-one punched me alright?" The older brunette finally yelled, silencing Carlos and James immediately. He glanced up, incredibly relieved that Mr. Simons had left the room for the time being, and the class was already full of noise.

The sandy haired boy squinted at him, suspiciously glancing at the bruise that funnily enough, was shaped like a fist. A very big fist. "You sure?"

"I think I would _know _if someone punched me, thanks," Logan rolled his eyes, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm.

"Well, how did you get it then?" Carlos, who was not understanding the meaning of _personal space, _asked, screwing up his face that was mere inches from his.

Pushing him back slightly, Logan allowed his cheeks to colour red. "Um, I didn't want to tell you at first, because, err, well…It's kind of embarrassing…" he laughed awkwardly, hand automatically reaching to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit.

James merely raised an eyebrow, a signal for him to continue.

"Well I got up late today, so I grabbed the first pair of shoes that I could find. But I didn't realize the roads were going to be so slippery okay? And it wasn't really paying attention because I didn't want to be late so I was looking at my watch and I kind of, um, sort of…slipped and fell…" he trailed off, face a startling shade of scarlet.

For a moment, it was completely silent. Then, just as Logan risked glancing up, he heard the unmistakable sound of Carlos and James erupting into howls of laughter.

"It's not funny!" Logan shrieked, but the other two boys were already gasping for breath, their laughs becoming silent as they sat there with such expressions that the brunette found himself laughing.

"And…you-" Carlos tried to stutter out, but was cut off by a uncontrollable seize of laughter. "You broke your fall with your _face?"_

"My arms were _preoccupied!" _

They carried on giggling for a few minutes, only pausing to catch their breath and wipe the tears away.

That's when Logan realized something was wrong. Someone wasn't laughing.

_Jeez, it's not like you punched me or anything."_

"…_punched me or anything."_

"…_punched me…"_

Kendall vaguely heard someone calling his name. Or someone's name. What was his name? Oh, yeah, it was-

"_Boy! Get here now!"_

He tried to shake it off, he was in _class_, at _school, _not there, not anymore, not now. But it was like his head was being held underwater- everything blurred and meshed into one, sounds faded and his vision glazed over. He felt a huge pressure on his chest and suddenly breathing became a problem.

Then, he could see. But he didn't want to see, not this. He could hear, but didn't want to, didn't want to feel _this again._

"_Daddy? What's that?"_

"_It's a toy. Do you want to play with it, boy?"_

"_But daddy, I don't know how to play with it."_

"_Let me show you then…"_

"_Why are we in the basement? Why is the door locked? Did you lock it, daddy?"_

And then he was hearing the deafening 'zzzzzzz' noise and he was seeing a man tower over him and the metal was cold and smelt of sawdust. He choked.

"_Hold still boy."_

That's when the punch came, swift and powerful to his stomach, winding him, forcing him to fall backwards. All because he wouldn't keep still, couldn't, wanting to see the whirling metal rod just like the one he'd seen _Bob the Builder _use on T.V.

But _Bob the Builder _had been using it to drill holes in wood to make a house. Were they going to make houses?

And then. Then.

Then came the screams.

It had tore through his flesh and bone like play dough. On his shoulder, his left one, right underneath his collarbone, drilling and drilling and screaming and blood and red and _laughter _and he didn't stop, didn't stop until it became jammed into him and he had to rip it back out.

Didn't stop until Kendall's screams had turned into gurgles, eventually dying down to mere silence.

Silence.

The awful, eerie, heart-in-mouth silence, so quiet all he could hear was his own blood and salvia go _drip_ and sometimes even _splash_ on the rough cement floor, mingling and making his tiny hands slippery as he tried to stop the bleeding time after time.

The lonely silence as he had cried, trying to contain his pain but only failing as it ripped his skin apart like a hungry, furious tiger clawing out from deep inside of him.

Sobbing as he told his mother tales of a boy who was locked in the basement with the promise of playing with his father.

The cold silence as she told him what happened to little boys who made up such wicked lies, and to stop playing with his fathers tools, serves him right for being such a naughty boy.

The silence, oh God the silence he was left in-

"Kendall!" was the roar in his ear, that finally shook him from his daze as his eyes tried to come back into focus once more.

When did he get in the toilets?

And why was everyone _looking _at him like that?

Carlos, James, Logan and Kendall were all crammed into one toilet cubicle, which in any other situation would have been funny and about ten times more awkward. Kendall found himself sat on the closed lid of the toilet, with Logan right beside him and James and Carlos stood cramped by the door.

"Wha…?" was his intelligent reply, looking between his three friends worried looks.

Oh dear. Oh no.

"Kendall?" This time it was Carlos, who wore such a scared expression he looked like he was about to cry. He spoke in a gentle tone, almost as if Kendall was a dangerous animal and one wrong word might cause him to pounce.

He swallowed hard. "Yeah?" Kendall was extremely relieved his voice hadn't failed him.

"Are you okay?" James asked, his eyes darting back and forth between Kendall's face and his clenched fists with a nervous expression. Kendall, who hadn't even realized he'd been clenching, slowly unravelled them with a wince, glancing at the indents of his nails on his palms. The taller boy visibly relaxed at this.

"Uh, yes…" he paused, eyeing Logan's sceptical look.

"Really? You certainly didn't look fine to me," the slightly shorter teen snorted, but the frantic worry was poorly hidden beneath his tone.

"You like, froze up and went really pale, we thought you were going to faint or something!" Carlos, who could no longer contain himself, burst out in a panic.

"Yeah, and you wouldn't respond to us, and we were going to take you to the nurses office but then Mr. Simons was a jerk about it and was like 'Oh he can wait five minutes until break.'" James scowled at the end, and Kendall vaguely wondered if he the hazel-eyed teen had said anything to the uncaring teacher.

"So then Logan decided we should just take you here because you looked like you were about to throw up…" the shorter Latino boy finished, looking towards Kendall with a questioning look. It was then that the blonde teen realized they were all looking at him like that, clearly expected a explanation.

Mind whirling, Kendall quickly mumbled out a excuse. "Um, yeah, I did feel really sick suddenly and I guess I was so focused on trying to keep it down I kind of didn't notice…" he winced as he realized how lame it sounded. Christ, he was bad at this.

Logan raised a eyebrow. He looked like a wanted to say something, but then decided against it. His expression softened, and a almost understanding look crossed his eyes. "Well, do you feel better now?"

Despite himself, Kendall felt a small smile grace his face. "Yeah, thanks guys."

The other three boys returned his smile with their own shaky versions, whilst all shuffling to the back of the cubicle to make room for the door to be opened. One by one they all piled out of the single cubicle, glad to be finally out of the cramped space.

It was only then that they realized just _how_ many people were in the toilets. And how many were staring.

"Uh…" The four boys stood awkwardly for a second, before scrambling to the door as quickly as possible, heads down in pure embarrassment.

"You just _had_ to make us all share a cubicle," Carlos whispered under his breath, glaring a bit at Logan.

"Hey, you were the one who was so curious and worried in the first place!" Logan defended, face once more a deep shade of red.

Kendall rolled his eyes, watching the two bicker like a old married couple. He looked to James, feeling the slightly taller teens eyes practically search him up and down, still not quite reassured.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked softly, and Kendall hated himself that little bit more for having to lie straight to the younger boys face. There was so much trust in his big hazel eyes that the blonde had avert his own eyes.

"I'm fine," the lie smoothly spilt from his lips, plastering on a smirk and giving James a nudge, before striding a bit more purposefully, quickening his pace just slightly so he was a bit in front of his friends. The change in his friends was almost immediate, just as he predicted. The tension vanished from their bodies and the worry and concern was wiped from their eyes, replaced by reassurance and relief.

_Not like him._

Kendall took a deep breath, and carried on walking, just slightly ahead of the others, not so much that he wasn't included, but more so that he looked like a leader.

So that he looked strong. So that he looked like what everyone else needed him to be.

_Never like him._

And with every footstep the steady sound of a whirling electric drill resounded inside his head.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I hope that wasn't tooooooo horrible. I'm very sorry for the awful chapter that probably bored you all half to death, but chapter three has been drafted and is under-going the final tweeks! Thank you for reading, and THANK YOU SOSOSOSOSOSOOOOO MUCH to everyone who reviewed, faved, or alerted. It seriously meant the world to me- ohgodimsosad- *SHOT*.


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